


This possibility of you

by pes



Series: aster hall [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Bottom Steve, M/M, Married Life, Mild Sexual Content, Mpreg, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, super cheesy because that's all i can write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pes/pseuds/pes
Summary: “Here,” came Bucky’s voice, warm and gentle, “open your mouth, dear, take a little bite. Do spare my fingers, though.”Steve smiled, fighting to keep his eyes closed. “We’ll see about that.”(In which Christmas approaches, and a new life as well.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: aster hall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596814
Comments: 2
Kudos: 116





	This possibility of you

**Author's Note:**

> A little sequel to [All the sweetness and all the glory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883059).
> 
> I've been holding onto this for a while now. It's kind of- the result of a Christmas with very little Christmas spirit, and a bad start of the year. For a few weeks, every time I was feeling down I would go back and write a little bit more, just to cheer myself up, which explains why it's so unbearably cheesy xD But I'm fond of it either way. I hope your 2020 started off great, and well, if it didn't, there's still time to make it good, right? <3
> 
> Title from [Poem for my love](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49218/poem-for-my-love), by June Jordan.

When Steve stirred that morning, the first thing he knew was that everything around him was splendidly, deliciously warm.

His senses came awake slowly, one by one, alerting him to his surroundings. The plush feeling of the blankets on top of him; the soft sounds of Bucky snoring quietly behind him; the curious weight of an extra arm wrapped around him, tossed over Steve’s waist underneath the covers.

His fingers wandered down, finding the familiar, fuzzy texture of Bucky’s forearm in their way, where his shirtsleeve had ridden up. Steve smiled into his pillow, content. It was sweet, how Bucky would seek him even in his sleep; reach for him with those big, clumsy paws of his in an unconscious attempt to keep Steve close, as if he might fly away in the night.

Carefully, he turned over in Bucky’s embrace. Sunlight danced in through a gap in the curtains, thin and pale, hitting Bucky’s shoulder – mercifully sparing his eyes. He was still deep in slumber; his mouth relaxed and his brow smoothed over, his cheeks dusted with fine stubble that would soon be shaved off.

He looked so young, so sweet in his sleep, poor Steve couldn’t help himself. He brushed Bucky’s short curls back from his forehead, and because it was so tempting, he lingered long enough to sweep a caress along Bucky’s cheekbone. Bucky snuffled sleepily, beginning to rouse at the gentle touch, and Steve smiled to himself.

There was a unique sort of pleasure in being here; in being able to do this. The first time, the very first time he woke up next to Bucky, he could hardly believe that this new intimacy was something they could share every day. The realization had made his stomach flutter and his heart fill with warmth.

He’d spent the first few weeks of their marriage fearing that he would lose this; that the novelty of it all would wear off and fade into habit. And yet it still surprised him, this sweet, wonderfully possessive feeling in his chest. This secret ache which blossomed inside him, every time he opened his eyes first, and got to comb his fingers through Bucky’s tousled hair, and watch Bucky lean into the touch in his sleep. His husband, sleeping next to him, soft and trusting. Bucky, his to love, and cherish, and wake up with a kiss if Steve so wished.

He snuggled up closer to Bucky, nuzzling the raspy underside of his jaw, peppering it with gentle kisses; following the curve of it into the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky hummed, drowsy and pleased, definitely starting to wake now.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his body shifting lazily against Steve’s own. “We’re in a sweet mood today?”

Steve grinned against Bucky’s skin, feeling his whole being flush with pleasure.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I was just being civil and saying good morning, and there’s nothing more to that,” he mused, kissing down the vee of Bucky’s open collar.

Bucky chuckled – a low, delicious sound that sank right into Steve’s spine, warm and thick as molasses.

“I’m sure your intentions were perfectly honorable,” Bucky said, his eyes still closed as he nosed at Steve’s cheek. “Mine, on the other hand...”

He grasped Steve by the waist and slowly rolled them over, hovering on all-fours above him so his body wouldn’t weigh down on Steve’s belly.

Sprawled languorously on his back, his hair fanning out in strokes of gold against the pillow, Steve found himself gazing up into Bucky’s eyes, still soft with sleep, but already alive with mischief.

“You’ve said your good morning’s, now I should say mine,” Bucky warned before descending upon Steve’s neck and sucking a first, lazy kiss there. One hand propped on the bed for support, he caressed down Steve’s side with his other, palming the softening curve of Steve’s hip, the new roundness of his belly, the inside of his thigh where the nightshirt was running up. Steve basked in the attentions, and tucked his arms up above his head, opening himself up to Bucky’s touch with a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Do you think it snowed last night? I think it did,” he mumbled, as Bucky’s tongue found the spot between his neck and shoulder. “I want to go outside later. Go for– for a walk. Make – _oh_ – a snowman, or... something.”

“Must you really?” Bucky rumbled, nuzzling the cotton laces tangled across Steve’s breastbone. “It’s so cold outside, and what with your condition–”

Steve’s eyes snapped open, any trace of his blissed-out grin already disappearing behind a frown.

“James Barnes, if you think I’ll stop doing the most mundane of things simply because I’m _expecting_ –”

“No, dear,” Bucky agreed amiably, moving from Steve’s chest to the sloping landscape of his belly, laying a sweet kiss there.

Steve peered down at him suspiciously, crossing his arms. “Well, if you think _you_ can stop me, then–”

“I’m not stopping you,” Bucky promised. He slid further down the bed, pushing the blankets back as he went. His hands spread over Steve’s thighs, rucking up his nightshirt, baring his sleep-warm skin to Bucky’s hungry gaze.

His palms ran over the meat of Steve’s thighs, parting them, until he was resting right in between.

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of stopping you, dear. I’m just wondering if you could be... delayed.”

His mouth found Steve’s knee, and then the enticing expanse above it, venturing over the fine hair dusting Steve’s inner thigh, where it curled soft and golden. Up, where leg joined hip and Steve’s creamy skin was smoothest, hottest under Bucky’s lips. He ran the tip of his nose there, his breath gusting against the most sensitive part of Steve’s body.

Heat coiled inside Steve; his skin felt hot all over, his chest rose shallowly. Bucky licked a thick stripe over his already fattening cock, and Steve let out a gasp.

“You’re a fiend,” he muttered, arching into the touch despite himself.

“I love you, too,” Bucky said, wrapping his hand around Steve’s shaft, pumping it slowly, _viciously_ slowly. Steve’s hips bucked with a shudder, following the motion.

“This is, this is cheating,” he all but moaned, rocking up into Bucky’s fist to chase that delicious friction. Bucky rewarded him with a wet, sloppy kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“I call it persuading,” he smirked, and slipped Steve’s cock past his spit-slick lips, into the hot cavern of his mouth.

From there on, Steve had very, very few objections to being delayed.

* * *

The belly bump had popped up out of the blue; one day Steve’s stomach was as flat as ever, and the next, there it was, a little mound filling up his cupped palm. Bucky had been ecstatic, lavishing it with attentions, his every touch a caress – his head resting next to Steve’s middle for the better part of the night, until they both had fallen asleep.

Steve had indulged him with only minimum complaining, he himself filled with wonder at the sight of his body, changing to accommodate a new life. He hadn’t even noticed _how much_ it was changing, until he realized, a few weeks later, that his trousers didn’t fit him anymore. The nice, beribboned box lying on his bed now was the ultimate proof of that.

“Look at the size of this.” He picked up the nightshirt, all twenty miles of flowing white cotton, and let it stretch out between his hands. There was so, so much of it. “Does our tailor suppose that I will grow to host an entire circus show in my belly?”

“It’s designed to make you comfortable,” Bucky soothed, pulling his waistcoat on. “When you are further along.”

“It’s designed to make me feel larger than I really am,” Steve quipped, dropping the nightclothes to examine the next item from the box.

“You’re not _large_ , Steve.”

“I _will_ be eventually.”

He lifted a pair of his newly-fitted breeches. They were wider around the waist than he was used to; the laces built to stretch and allow for more room as the baby grew. It was– oh, it was–

Tentatively, he slipped the trousers on, tucked his shirt in and very carefully buttoned up. Steve paused, frozen in the moment. It was the strangest feeling; the fabric had more give than his usual, the band around his middle felt snug and cozy, like a hug. It was perfect. And somehow, it knocked the breath out of him.

“Oh.”

It was only then that it truly sank in. That this was real; that it was happening now, before his very eyes, and there was no going back.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Steve? Is something the matter?”

“Yes,” he gasped, and then, “No. Maybe.” A frustrated groan clawed its way out of his throat. “Possibly.”

He turned around just on time to see Bucky’s arms reaching out for him, beckoning him closer; Steve walked right into the inviting embrace and burrowed in it, smooshing his nose against the flawless knot of Bucky’s ascot tie.

“I clearly overestimated myself,” he muttered dramatically, his words muffled by the silk. “I’m _not_ ready for this.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’m quite sure nobody’s ever truly ready for this,” he said warmly. He placed a lingering kiss on the crown of Steve’s head and Steve pressed himself closer, tucking his face against Bucky’s neck.

“It’s alright to be scared, love; you’re allowed to be,” Bucky murmured in his ear. “But we’ll do this together. No matter what happens, remember that. We will learn together, and be there for each other when we fail. You’ll never be alone, dear, I promise you.”

His broad had stroked over the span of Steve’s back, comforting, and Steve closed his eyes, lost in the sensation. Not for the first time, he felt the new curve of his belly pressed snugly between them, and he knew that Bucky must feel it, too. It was there – and oh, it was theirs, simply, wonderfully theirs. Their baby to fret over, their child to spoil rotten – a tiny, fluttering life they had made together, just the two of them.

And while Steve could doubt himself, he could never doubt Bucky. Not what they could be, could do, together.

“I’m not wearing the circus tent, though,” he said, and Bucky laughed, his chest shaking with it, and Steve with him.

“That’s quite all right, love,” he said fondly, “that’s quite all right.”

* * *

The bathwater was blessedly hot when Steve slipped in. He let himself be swallowed up with a delighted sigh, feeling a shiver ripple through his body and goosebumps spread across his skin.

Bucky was standing by the bathtub, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, watching Steve with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Is it nice, then?”

Steve leaned back, draping his long, wet fingers over the lip of the tub like a king on his throne.

“It’s _heavenly_ ,” he purred. “I must say, it was an excellent idea.”

Bucky grinned. He sat down on a stool placed by the tub and, with the nonchalance of somebody who knows he’s welcome to do so, dipped his hand in the water, caressing the smooth curve of Steve’s knee where it broke to the surface.

“I’m full of excellent ideas,” he remarked.

Steve caught the glint in his husband’s eye, the playful quirk of his eyebrow, and knew that the next move was his own to make, if he so wished.

“Perhaps you might show me, then,” he said softly, holding Bucky’s gaze.

A frisson of desire passed between them, warm and honey-thick. Bucky’s fingers sank a little deeper, gliding over the soft inside of Steve’s thigh, slow and enticing. Steve parted his legs just so, easing the way, and Bucky took the silent invitation for what it was. His hand traveled down, down along the sinuous arch of Steve’s leg, like a pilgrim seeking his holy place. He reached the apex of Steve’s thigh, the sweet crease there, and there he stopped.

His palm was a pleasant weight cupping the meat of Steve’s thigh, just shy of where Steve wanted it most, and he shifted with growing frustration.

“Bucky,” he urged, but his husband seemed to have different plans.

“Soon,” he promised, abandoning Steve’s leg with one last squeeze of his hand. “Now, I believe I have something for you.”

He stepped away, drying off his arm on a towel as he went; Steve could only sit back in his tub and watch, intrigued, as Bucky darted to his writing desk and retrieved something from the topmost drawer. When he came back, it was with a small, sleek box in his hands, the elegant lettering on top angled carefully out of Steve’s view.

“Close your eyes,” Bucky said. Steve gave him a curious look, but he complied.

He heard a soft rustling as Bucky returned to his seat, and then the quiet sounds of the box being opened; a whisper of paper, maybe, from whatever was inside it.

“Here,” came Bucky’s voice, warm and gentle, “open your mouth, dear, take a little bite. Do spare my fingers, though.”

Steve smiled, fighting to keep his eyes closed. “We’ll see about that.”

Something brushed against his lips, just a slight pressure and nothing more. It was familiar, he could tell; something about the scent of it, the wrinkly texture. His teeth sank easily into it, and the taste tingled on his tongue, sticky-sweet and surprising. It was a piece of dried fruit; apricot, his favourite – and the one he had been craving in secret for weeks.

He opened his eyes, finding Bucky smiling sheepishly at him; the open box in his lap showing more treats, peaches, figs, plums, peeking back at Steve in orderly rows.

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, and found he couldn’t say anything more.

“I knew you wouldn’t say a thing about it,” Bucky began, “but I saw you lusting after that tray at Mrs. Hills’ place, this past week.” He paused, grinning at the memory. “You were being quite obvious, I must say.”

Steve snorted, but he couldn’t hide the smile spreading on his face. “Was I, indeed.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, softer now. Beneath the laughter, his gaze was so full of tenderness, it made Steve’s heart grow three sizes in his chest.

He glanced at the box of sweets; a small gesture, but like each one of Bucky’s small gestures, it spoke of his devotion. Of his desire to please Steve in every way he could, no matter how small. Steve wished he knew how to repay him, how to express his feelings – how to say to his husband, without so many words, _you’re worth more than all the gold in the world to me_.

He took Bucky’s hand, the one still holding half of a dried apricot, and guided it to his own mouth.

He knew that Bucky was watching him, and because of that, Steve made each of his gestures deliberately slow. When he took the morsel from Bucky’s hand, he made sure his lips brushed against Bucky’s fingertips, letting his lower lip catch against the pad of Bucky’s thumb for a moment. His eyelids fluttered closed as he chewed, savouring the sugary, fruity flavour on his tongue, and then– then he leaned in and licked the sweetness off Bucky’s fingertips, meeting Bucky’s gaze as he did so.

Bucky’s lips were parted as he watched, all of his attention on Steve and Steve alone; the room was silent around them, save for the soft sound of their breaths, and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

On a whim, Steve moved further, kissing along the underside of Bucky’s fingers, following the little creases and the tender padding, until he could burrow into the cradle of Bucky’s palm, and place a lingering kiss there.

Bucky’s skin was warm and smooth under his touch. It smelled liked him, tasted like him, and Steve’s mouth sought more of it – down across the heel of Bucky’s hand, over the inside of his wrist, where his heartbeat thrummed, alive and restless beneath Steve’s lips.

“Steve,” his husband called, if in warning or in prayer, Steve couldn’t say. He looked up at Bucky, who waited; a question in his eyes to which Steve already knew the answer.

“Mr. Barnes,” he said, low and sultry. “I think you should join me now.”

Bucky’s eyebrows arched up in surprise.

“In the bathtub?”

Steve pressed one more lazy kiss to his palm. “ _In the bathtub_.”

A smile was slowly spreading across Bucky’s lips.

“Well then,” he said at length. “Will you make room for me, dear?”

Steve made a show of tucking his legs up, hugging his knees for good measure.

“There, now. Your seat awaits you.”

They shared a long, playful glance. When Bucky stood up, Steve’s gaze followed him closely, watching him.

Of all the privileges that came with marriage, this was perhaps Steve’s favourite. Bucky slipped out of his clothes unhurriedly, working on laces and buttons with nimble fingers. First his shirt, then his breeches – all of it was undone and pulled away, tossed carelessly over the back of a chair.

Sliver by sliver, patch by patch, Bucky’s golden skin came to the surface, smooth and luscious like warm honey by the flickering firelight. Steve drank him in – all the divots, the sharpest angles and the gentle slopes that made up Bucky’s body. His strong arms, the inside of his elbows which Steve knew to be ticklish, and had teased with his lips. Bucky’s chest, the vulnerable line of his stomach – the dark trail below his navel, which Steve had traced for the first time on their wedding night, with the very tips of his fingers. Bucky’s long legs, the inviting cradle of his thighs; Steve had spent quite some time there, eager to curl up between them and taste Bucky’s pleasure for himself.

Steve’s own body stirred at the thought. Desire poured like liquid heat down his spine, throbbing between his legs.

“Steve,” Bucky called. His voice was like velvet, dark and warm.

Steve exhaled, his heart beating fast with anticipation. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Bucky didn’t. Under Steve’s watchful gaze, he climbed in the bathtub and settled across from Steve, his legs framing Steve’s own in the enclosed space.

Steve crawled over to him, and Bucky let himself be cornered, pulling him into a searing kiss.

Water sloshed and rippled around them, spilling over the edge; soon Steve was straddling Bucky’s lap, guided by his husband’s hands at his waist, and moaned against Bucky’s mouth as they finally came skin to skin.

Bucky parted from him only to press a trail of hungry kisses down the delicate curve of Steve’s neck, moving into the groove of his collarbone, until he was nuzzling the flat of Steve’s chest.

Steve slid his fingers through Bucky’s mussed hair, wetting it, drawing him close. When Bucky licked over the sensitive skin of a nipple and sucked it between his lips, Steve gasped and let his head fall back, overcome by the sensation, his hips rocking instinctively down against Bucky’s own. The silky heat of his tongue teasing him, worshipping him – it was driving Steve crazy with want. He could feel Bucky’s own desire between them, the thick, hardening line of it against him, and he longed to feel it inside of him, moving, thrusting, slow and sweet and unrelenting.

“Bucky,” he rasped, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Gently, Bucky pulled away from him, looking up Steve with piercing eyes, bright in the golden light. His lips were bruised red, full and gleaming from his attentions to Steve’s chest. They made Steve’s cheeks prickle with warmth, and his spine tingle with pleasure.

He cupped the back of Bucky’s neck and kissed him for a soft, breathless moment.

“Please, please love,” he begged then, hot against Bucky’s parted lips. “I need you.”

Bucky’s hands ran over his back, dark against his milky skin. His voice was a searing hot whisper. “ _You can have me_.”

* * *

They set up the Christmas tree in the parlour, near the largest window, where it would get the best of the sunlight. It was a giant, green beast of a fir tree, so tall that Steve couldn’t reach the topmost branches even when he was standing on his tiptoes, and it smelled like the forest – fresh, wild, musky, the scent of soil after rain. Steve insisted on decorating it himself, and Bucky volunteered to help him.

They had tinsel, ribbons and candles, paper figurines and a bunch of roses fashioned with twisted silk. And a magnificent basket full of red apples. Heart-shaped and perfect they were, polished to a shine and looking juicy as sin; and it might have been the pregnancy talking, but Steve had never felt so attracted to any fruit before.

He felt his mouth water and turned his back on the basket, focusing his attention on a silk flower. It wasn’t that he craved those apples – he didn’t get _cravings_ , no thank you, not him. He just became... oddly obsessed with food sometimes. He’d eaten nothing but mashed potatoes for three days, stuffing his face when nobody else was around to uncover his dirty secret, and all that time Bucky had looked at him with that impish grin of his, as if he just knew. _Did_ he know about the bowl hidden under the bed? Possibly. Did he know about the plate on the windowsill, only half-covered by the curtains? Maybe. Did he know about the bowl hastily shoved in a drawer of the bedside table, though? No, no he did not. Ha.

Steve tossed one more glance in the apples’ direction. They were so alluring, ruby-red and delicious, and Bucky wasn’t looking. He licked his lips, anticipating the moment he’d be sinking his teeth into the apple’s skin, and darted towards the basket like a thief.

The first bite was perfectly, obnoxiously loud, and Steve didn’t regret it at all. The apple crunched so nicely under his teeth, and the crisp, vanilla-y sweetness of it burst on his tongue like a forbidden pleasure.

He could feel Bucky’s amused gaze on him, and chomped on his apple louder just because he could. When he was done, he snuck his hand back into the basket, plucking another fruit from the bunch. This one was even sweeter, like sugar melting in his mouth, and Steve licked up the juice that trickled down his wrist, catching it with the tip of his tongue.

“Should I leave you and your apple alone?”

Steve turned around, his hand still lifted at his mouth’s level. Bucky was securing one of the candles to a branch, making a show of not looking at him, but throwing amused glances at him all the same. Steve decided to play along; he circled the half-decorated tree, both hands tucked behind his back, and approached his husband with a playful grin on his face.

“In truth, I don’t understand what you mean, my dear,” he said innocently.

Bucky reached out his hand for him, luring Steve closer, until Steve was captured in his arms.

“It’s just, I can’t help but feel that I’m intruding on your romance here.”

Steve hooked his arms around Bucky’s neck, bitten apple and all, brushing his lips against Bucky’s chin.

“Why, Mr. Barnes,” he teased softly, “are you jealous?”

Bucky leaned down, so that his mouth lay just a hair’s breadth away from kissing Steve’s. “Terribly so,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Steve’s skin. “I am consumed with jealousy, of the fiercest kind.”

Steve hummed pleasantly. “Well, we can’t have that, can we.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not.”

It was Steve who closed the distance between them, though Bucky welcomed him warmly. Steve laced his least sticky fingers through Bucky’s short hair, teasing the softest curls at the nape of his neck. Bucky smiled into their kiss, then deepened it – his hand at the back of Steve’s head, guiding him as he pleased.

It was a while before they remembered the tree, but when the last of the ornaments was finally hanging in its rightful place, they stood back to admire the fruits of their hard work.

“It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it?” Steve said. When he got no reply, he turned towards Bucky. His husband was staring at their tree with a strange expression on his face. “Bucky? What is it?”

Bucky shook his head, as if pulling himself out of his reverie.

“It’s nothing,” he said, quietly. “I was just thinking... This time next year, there will be three of us standing here.” He paused, glancing at Steve’s middle with a little smile. “Well– one of us not quite _standing_ yet.”

Steve chuckled; but the shadow passing over Bucky’s features soon made the laughter die on his lips. Before he could ask, however, it was Bucky himself who sought his gaze.

“Steve, do you think– Do you honestly think that I could– that I’ll be...”

Understanding dawned on Steve then, and made his heart clench in his chest. He recognized this feeling of self-doubt – he had felt it himself many times over the past weeks. But he hated the thought that Bucky could feel that way, too; and if he could prevent it, he would.

He held his hand out for Bucky’s, and grasped it gently, stroking his thumb over the bumps of his knuckles.

“Are you wondering, perhaps... if you’ll be a good parent? A good father?”

Bucky was quiet, but his downcast eyes were answer enough.

Steve cradled his face in both of his hands, smoothing out the frown on Bucky’s brow, the nervous nibbling on his lips, until Bucky was meeting his eyes again.

“I know you will be good, love. And I’m not saying that to please you or placate you, either. Do you know why I’m so sure of this?”

Wordlessly, Bucky shook his head.

“You already love this child so much, dear. And that’s always a great start. As for the rest,” Steve added, brushing the back of his hand against Bucky’s cheek tenderly, “it is as you said. We will learn, all of it, together.”

It didn’t surprise him, really, when Bucky swept him into his arms – though it did knock the breath out of Steve’s lungs somewhat. But Bucky buried his face in the thickest of Steve’s golden hair, hugging him as close as he could, pressing shuddering kisses against him.

“I love you so much, “ he rasped, and the sound of it, so raw, so honest, went straight to Steve’s heart.

He wrapped his own arms around Bucky, holding onto him, breathing him in.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed. “Don’t you ever stop.”

* * *

The candles still burned on the bedside table. The bed curtains were pinned, letting in the warm glow from the fireplace, the blazing gold of the flames, the quiet sounds of the burning logs.

Steve burrowed deeper into the blankets and curled up against Bucky’s side, laying his head on his husband’s shoulder. Bucky’s arm came up around him instinctively, his hand resting over Steve’s middle in a protective gesture.

“All right?” He murmured against Steve’s brow.

Steve pressed a quick kiss to the nearest patch of Bucky’s chest, sighing in bliss. “All right.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement, drawing slow circles over Steve’s flank. Steve shifted a little, adjusting his belly bump in the snug space between their bodies. If the doctor was right, he was approaching his fifth month by now; and while some positions weren’t entirely reasonable for him anymore, he could still have this.

Bucky didn’t seem to mind it, either – on the contrary, he never seemed more delighted than when Steve’s belly was accidentally poking him – in the back, in the side, in the stomach, wherever Steve would reach first. Bucky’s hands kept finding him, cupping around the swell of him, stroking with all the tenderness in the world. Steve knew, with unbreakable certainty, that their baby would have to suffer through the same destiny once they were born, and he couldn’t wait to see it happen.

He brought his hand to Bucky’s chest, tracing the loose collar of his nightshirt with idle fingertips.

“Bucky,” he mumbled after a time.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever– do you ever wonder what they’ll look like? Our child?”

Bucky’s breath was a warm puff above him, stirring the hair at the top of Steve’s head. His arm tightened around Steve, and though Steve couldn’t see his expression, he knew that his husband was smiling.

“Every day,” Bucky whispered, his voice a gentle rumble where Steve’s cheek was pillowed on his chest. “I wonder every day.”

His hand covered Steve’s own, sweeping down in a long caress from Steve’s wrist to the bend of his elbow, back and forth. His fingers slipped mindlessly underneath Steve’s sleeve, warm and ticklish against his bare skin.

“I think about them all the time,” Bucky confessed, and his very shyness warmed Steve’s heart. He tilted his head back, searching Bucky’s eyes, and found them beautiful, and sweet, and brimming with joy. “I think of all the things I want to do with them, and– all the things our child will do, like–”

“Like the first time they will smile,” Steve suggested softly.

“And the first time they’ll walk.”

“And the first time they’ll call you papa.”

Bucky’s breath caught for a moment, his pulse quickening under Steve’s touch.

“Yes,” he said, “that also.”

Steve smiled sweetly at him. He reached his hand up, cradling Bucky’s jaw in his palm, and leaned up to kiss him. Bucky melted into their kiss, turning on his side until he was facing Steve completely – their bodies pressed together thigh to thigh, belly to belly, his arms holding Steve close.

Steve parted from him with a sigh, stroking his knuckles along the sharp line of Bucky’s jaw.

“Do you know,” he began quietly, “I dream about them nearly every night.”

Bucky kissed the tip of his nose. “Do you.”

Steve nodded. “I dream of holding them in my arms for the first time– wonder what that will feel like when they’re really, finally here.”

In his mind, he always pictured them like that; dark curls and baby-soft cheeks, tiny fists clutching at his breast, a tiny little button nose, too precious for words – and that sweet, unique scent only babies have, pink somehow, and tender, like roses and milk.

“Sometimes, though,” he murmured, “sometimes I see them as they are now. Curled up inside me, sleeping tight, all cozy and safe. Content to be just where they are, until it’s time to come out.” He met Bucky’s eye, feeling strangely vulnerable and exposed. “Those are the dreams I cherish the most.”

Bucky simply pulled him closer, tucking Steve’s cold feet in between his own.

“I wish I could see them like you do, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead; and just like that, Steve’s heart settled once more. He could feel it beating in his chest, quiet but steady, and let the soft thrum of it lull him to sleep, wrapped safely in Bucky’s arms.

* * *

Christmas Eve came on a sunny day – an unexpected treat after a week of thick mists and gloomy skies. The courtyard was painted white with a fresh coating of snow, and in the parlour the tinsel glittered like morning frost on the Christmas tree, silvery and precious.

Steve was fixing a drooping ribbon when Bucky walked in, dressed in his favourite blue coat and cream breeches; his nose a little pink after a quick foray outdoors.

“Everything is ready,” he announced, rubbing his hands together to get some warmth back into them. “Our things are packed, Barton is taking care of the carriage, and the staff is excited to be rid of us for a couple of days. Just say the word and we’ll be on our way.”

Steve nodded. “We should go, then. Just in case it starts snowing again.”

They would have dinner at Becca’s, where they would meet with the rest of Bucky’s family. Steve’s mother had promised to join them too, and he couldn’t wait to see her again; there had been nothing but letters between them for far too long.

Bucky smiled down at him, as if he could tell what was on Steve’s mind.

“Of course,” he said. Then, hesitantly, he took Steve’s hand in his. “Before we go... would you sit with me for a moment? There’s something I want to give you.”

Steve was a little puzzled, but he let himself be led to the bench by the window. Bucky knelt down by the tree, taking the only present left underneath it, and then came to sit next to him.

“I know we’ll open the rest later, with everybody else,” he began, scarcely meeting Steve’s eye, “but I wanted you to have this first, while it’s just the two of us.”

He placed the parcel in Steve’s hands. It was wrapped in fine paper and topped with a nice ribbon, and it wasn’t very large at all, but– but it tinkled. It was a soft sound, like a handful of pennies jingling together, but it was there.

Gently, Steve pulled the wrapping apart, revealing a simple wooden box beneath it; and when he opened that, on the velvety padding inside, he found a baby rattle. His eyes widened, his lips parted around a shaky breath.

“I wrote to my mother a while back, wondering if she might still have it,” Bucky was saying, though Steve could hardly hear him over the sound of his pounding heart. He plucked the rattle from its box with trembling fingers, holding it up to the light, drinking it in. The finely chiseled silver; the smooth ivory handle, small and delicate, made for baby hands.

“It was my very first toy,” Bucky said, hands folded nervously on his lap. “I thought it could be our child’s first, as well.”

Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, the baby rattle still held firmly in his fist, and buried his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“You’re the most– infuriatingly wonderful man, and I detest you,” he scolded, trying to smother the lump in his throat.

Bucky wrapped him up in his arms, hiding a smile against Steve’s hair.

“Yes, dear,” he murmured, “I love you, too.”


End file.
